More Tales in the Land of Nursery Rhyme Part 6

"Where did you get it from?" ventured Jill.

"Aha, I stole it!" said the old Witch, with a wicked grin. "When the people weren't looking, I stole it! A bag here, and a bag there. Some nice little thunderstorms I got too. They won't like it when they wake up to-morrow and find their wells dried up, and their gra.s.s withering.

Ha! ha! ha!" and the old Witch ground her teeth together more maliciously than ever.

"Now, come along, pick up those bags and follow me," she cried, when she had finished eating her supper. So Jill picked up the bags.

"Lift up the floor And open door,"

shouted the old Witch, tapping the floor with her broomstick. Once more they went down the dark steps into the vault. Jill untied the sacks and emptied them into the different casks according to the Witch's directions, and as each cask was filled a lid slid on of itself. There was a terrible noise while the thunder-storm cask was being filled, and the old Witch had to mutter spells all the time to prevent it from running over.

When the bags were empty and the casks full, the old Witch went into the next vault and made Jill pick up and add some more bags to the number that she already had.

Then they went back to the kitchen again. At the top of the steps the Witch called out:

"Shut down the floor And close the door,"

and the floor closed up again.

"I am going out now," said the old Witch as before. "I shall not be back till to-morrow at dusk. I shall lock the door so you cannot get out. Clean the place and have supper ready for me when I come back."

She took her broomstick and bound on it the double number of elastic bags, perched her cat at the other end, mounted it astride, and with an "Abracadabra," she was gone.

The next night at dusk she returned again with the bags full of water.

"Ha! ha! I stole it," said she to Jill. "A bag here, and a bag there.

They won't like it when they wake up to-morrow and find they have no water to wash in and precious little water to drink." She ground her iron teeth together and laughed again.

As before, Jill had to take the bags down to the vault, empty them in the casks, and get a further supply of bags for the next day. And so it went on for a year and a day.

At the end of that time the numberless casks in the vault were all full; the last to be filled being those labelled "Drinking-water Possible," and "Reservoirs Old Fruity."

On the last evening the old Witch was in high spirits. "You have worked well, my pretty dear," she said to Jill. "Go home now and enjoy yourself," and she approached Jill as if to kiss her. But Jill fled out of the door and through the gate-posts on to the hill outside.

She had never been outside the Witch's cottage since the day she came, but she had often thought of the village street as she had seen it last--cool and green and shady, with the babbling stream and chattering ducks at the foot of the hill.

When she got outside the fence she stopped suddenly.

What had happened to the village?

It looked brown and baked and dusty. The sun was intolerably hot.

There was not a field to be seen, nothing but a wide dreary desert of sand stretching on either side of the sun-baked houses. A few rotting stumps by the roadside told where once the shady trees had been. As Jill went slowly down the hill she looked into the little dried-up yards that had once been gardens. Oh, how dusty it was! The stream had disappeared, some bleaching bones told of the poor ducks' fate.

"Oh, I am thirsty!" said Jill as she went on down the hill to her own cottage.

A dirty, thin, brown-skinned, weak-looking boy was lying in the porch.

"Jill," he said feebly.

"Is that you, Jack?"

"Yes, have you brought us any water?"

"Me, no; I was just going to ask you for a drink. I am so thirsty."

Jack smiled feebly. "There isn't any," he said.

Jill went indoors. A dirty table-cloth was spread on the dusty table.

"Ugh!" she said, coming out again, "isn't there any milk?"

"No," said Jack. "You see there is no gra.s.s for the cows. Where's the water gone?" he cried, raising himself from his chair, "that's what I want to know. I wish it would rain. My word, wouldn't I hang my tongue out to catch the raindrops," and he sank back again exhausted.

"The water?" said Jill, suddenly realising what that year with the old Witch had meant. "Why the old Witch has got it all! Her casks are full of it! But she will never let us have it back again."

"Then we must go and fetch it," said Jack with a sudden burst of energy. "You must come and show me where it is."

"Let us go at once," said Jill, "while the Witch is out. I know the spell to open the doors. We must take a pail to put the water in."

So she went into the dusty, dirty kitchen and found a pail, and then she and Jack set off to climb the glaring village street.

They pa.s.sed some of the villagers. They all looked as brown and dirty and thin as Jack.

"Where are you going?" they called after the children.

"To fetch a pail of water," answered Jack.

Poor Jack was so thin and tired, and Jill so hot and thirsty that they were forced to stop many times on their way up the hill.

At last they reached the Witch's cottage.

"Abracadabra," called out Jill, and they both entered the house through the window with the pail between them.

"Come along," said Jill, "she may come in at any minute." So they ran to the corner of the kitchen.

"Lift up the floor And open door,"

cried Jill, and they went down the steps.

Jack was so tired that he could hardly stand, but when he saw the casks he clapped his hands.

"Quick," he cried, "Abracadabra!"

"What have you done?" called out Jill the next minute. "You said Abracadabra to the thunder-storm cask. They will all be surging out in a minute! Oh, dear! oh, dear! See, _this_ is the drinking-water cask.

"Abracadabra!"

The lid slid open.